


Played

by emmaliza



Category: Blake's 7
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Fisting, Anal Sex, Angst and Porn, Dry Orgasm, Dubious Consent, M/M, Manipulation, Multiple Orgasms, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Power Dynamics, Sex Toys, Size Kink, Under-negotiated Kink, avon is a dick, tarrant makes bad decisions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-19
Updated: 2020-08-19
Packaged: 2021-03-06 05:48:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,927
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25988467
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emmaliza/pseuds/emmaliza
Summary: “What, do you think I can't take anything you can?”“I know you can't.” Avon's eyebrows shoot up in surprise. “The first time I took you you almost cried–”“I didnotcry!”“–And I'm aware my own size is considered average at best,” Avon concludes smugly, and Tarrant isn't sure whether he wants to jump his bones or punch his lights out. Both, probably. “Trust me, you are not even vaguely ready for what I would do to you with that.”“Really?” To hell with this. Tarrant will let Avon do many things to him, but he won't let him treat him as some spoiled child who can be coddled and condescended to. He grabs the toy again. “Let's find out.”
Relationships: Kerr Avon/Del Tarrant
Comments: 8
Kudos: 12





	Played

“I asked you to go fetch the lubrication, I did not give you permission to rifle through my things.”

Tarrant chuckles, hand wrapped around one of the assorted chains Avon keeps in this drawer for unclear, undoubtedly sordid purposes. “What's the matter Avon? Afraid I'll discover compromising information?” In truth, he might be delaying because he does not know where the lube is. He's sure he put it in this drawer, he always puts it in this drawer, but it just is not there.

In desperation he opens the drawer beneath, thinking it might have fallen. Avon makes no move to stop him, and so he's taken aback by what he finds there.

Sex toys. Dozens of them, in all sorts of shapes and sizes, far more than any one man could possibly find use for. Tarrant gawps at them. It's not like he's unfamiliar with the concept – sure, they are technically illegal within the Federation, but it's one of those rules nobody bothers to enforce. Still, he's never owned one of his own before. Why should he? His interest in men is mostly situational – nine times out of ten, he'd choose a woman if he were given the option (alright, maybe more like seven). He has no need to use sillicone cock if he can't get the real thing.

One of them can't help but draw his eye, however. Because it is _ridiculous_. No man has genitals like that, and if they did, they'd probably be crippled for life. It's as thick as his wrist, and about as long as his forearm. Tarrant curses under his breath. He knows Avon is more experienced with men than he is but he didn't think...

Avon's eyes are cold and hard and Tarrant can feel them pierce his bare back; he shows not the slightest bit of shame at his collection. Tarrant wonders if perhaps he waylaid the lube on purpose, to give Tarrant an excuse to discover these. It's not as if they have the sort of sexual relationship where they can just _ask_ when they want to try something new. No, everything is always a competition with them.

Tarrant chuckles faintly, grabbing the lube with one hand and the toy with the other, not showing the faintest bit of hesitation. If Avon can be completely shameless about such things, so can he. “I should be offended,” he muses. “It seems I'm not enough to satisfy you.”

“What, did you think you were?”

He scowls. Avon is goading him, clearly. When he makes it back over to the bed he throws the toy down like a challenge. “Still, _that_ seems more than is really necessary. What's the matter, Avon, eyes too big for your stomach?”

Avon smirks at him. “Not for my stomach, no.”

Tarrant bristles. He gets the impression he's being mocked. “What, do you think I can't take anything you can?”

“I know you can't.” Avon's eyebrows shoot up in surprise. “The first time I took you you almost cried–”

“I did _not_ cry!”

“–And I'm aware my own size is considered average at best,” Avon concludes smugly, and Tarrant isn't sure whether he wants to jump his bones or punch his lights out. Both, probably. “Trust me, you are not even vaguely ready for what I would do to you with that.”

“Really?” To hell with this. Tarrant will let Avon do many things to him, but he won't let him treat him as some spoiled child who can be coddled and condescended to. He grabs the toy again. “Let's find out.”

“I thought you wanted to be on top today.”

He hesitates. He _did_ , but now he has a point to prove. “Later.”

“It will hurt you.”

Tarrant scoffs at him. “I'm not afraid of pain,” he says easily.

Again, Avon smirks at him. “No, you aren't, are you? Even when you really ought to be.” After a moment, he sighs. “Lie back.” He takes the bottle of lubricating fluid off the mattress. “If we're going to do this, you'll need to be prepared.”

Tarrant swallows hard. Alright, it's officially too late to back out now. “Alright. Let's get on with it, then.” Slowly he sinks into the soft confines of the mattress, and he hears Avon chuckle as he keeps his eyes carefully on the ceiling above, not willing to meet his gaze. He wonders if he's put himself exactly where Avon wants him.

He shudders when Avon drags two fingers, cool with the lube, across his inner thigh. Avon can be such a tease sometimes. “Get on with it,” he snaps, muscles tensing at the touch.

Avon grins. “You won't be saying that soon,” he says. Nonetheless, he does as asked – as instructed – fingers slipping smoothly between Tarrant's buttocks, circling the rim with practiced lightness. Tarrant lets out a small, unwitting groan. Alright, he does enjoy this – indeed the first time Avon ever took him he came harder than he ever had before, not that he would ever tell him that. He reassures himself that Avon enjoys it too, more than he does, even – he must do, if he's the one who keeps a whole cupboard of supplies on hand so he can do it to himself.

The very tip of Avon's finger slips inside him and he bites his lip not to make a noise. His cock twitches and he exhales, slowly and deliberately, as Avon pushes his digit with maddening lack of haste inside him. Tarrant highly doubts all this caution is necessary, Avon is just playing games with him as per usual. Still, there's no point complaining about it; that will only make Avon drag it out more.

Avon is _good_ at this, those fingers that are so expert at circuits and transistors just as good at making his wires spark too. Tarrant arches toward the touch, trying to get Avon to touch him deeper, harder, where he needs it. He knows he shouldn't speak, but his patience wears thin quickly. “Come on, Avon, you know I can take more than _that_.”

Poised neatly above his left thigh, Avon raises his eyebrows at him. “Indeed I do,” he says, and Tarrant groans as he finally pushes his finger in down to the knuckle. “But I have always wondered what it would take to make you beg.”

Tarrant scowls. That is the one thing he will _never_ do.

Either from pity or impatience, but more likely the latter, Avon does quicken his pace a little, a second finger slipping inside so efficiently he barely notices. Oh, _that's_ good; enough of a stretch to be satisfying, but not so much it causes him pain. He's considered asking Avon if he wouldn't mind finishing him off like this, just with his fingers, once or twice, but he can't imagine Avon having much time for anything that gives Tarrant pleasure and gets himself very little in return.

His cock twitches needily against his flat stomach and Tarrant reaches for it, only for Avon to slap his palm away with his spare hand. “No. I'm not having you come before I tell you to.”

Tarrant scoffs. “Do you think you can stop me?” But his hand remains on the mattress where Avon put it.

A third finger joins the other two inside him, and Tarrant groans lowly. That does still sting a little, but not enough to make it unpleasant. Avon curls them again and again, rubbing against his sweet spot beautifully, until Tarrant is writhing, thighs trembling as he thrusts back, trying to force more inside him. “Avon, come on,” he whines, “I'm ready, you don't have to be so damned cautious–

“No.” Avon adds a fourth one, and that is more than he's taken before. Oh hell, that _hurts_. “I want you very stretched. I won't have you accusing me of tearing you to pieces.”

Tarrant can hear himself whimper before he bites his lip to force himself not to. Half of Avon's hand rubs against his insides, and it still hurts, but he's best get used to that because he doubts things are going to get easier from here.

“Relax, Tarrant,” Avon whispers to him in a low, almost soothing voice. His thumb presses against the sensitive underside of Tarrant's cock, leaving small, teasing scratches. “It will hurt less if you relax.”

He shudders and, despite himself, starts to do so. Still, the sheer force of it all is enough to have his erection starting to falter, before Avon seizes it tight with his free hand and keeps it where he wants it. “No. I want you hard. I want you to enjoy it.”

Tarrant gasps but he says nothing, conscious mind devolving into white noise from the pain and the pleasure both. Avon keeps fingering him until _he_ decides Tarrant's ready, and when he pulls his fingers out Tarrant curses the low, sinking, empty feeling it leaves him with.

Wits coming back to him a little, Tarrant looks up to see Avon coating the dildo with lube – half a bottle's worth, seemingly. Damn, that was what he agreed to, wasn't it? No, not agreed to – demanded. He can hardly accuse Avon of tricking him into anything.

He plants his feet firm against the mattress, keeping his legs spread with bravado. Avon doesn't seem entirely convinced, noticing the tremble that goes through him when he presses the head of the dildo against his well-stretched rim. “Are you sure about this?” he asks in a voice that could be mocking, could be genuine concern (but is more likely the former). Tarrant nods brusquely. He's not going to back down now; whatever else he is, he's not a coward. “You're not afraid.”

Tarrant swallows hard. “No.”

“If you say so.”

He screams – cries out – as the head of it pushes inside him, his loosened hole spreading open for the invader. _It's too big._ Tarrant wrenches his eyes shut desperately to fight off tears of pain that immediately spring from him. He does not know if the total mass of it is technically bigger than four of Avon's fingers, but sure _feels_ bigger. It feels like he's being split in two. Avon doesn't make it easy on him either, pushing slowly but surely until he has half a dozen inches lodged inside him. _Too much, too much, I can't..._

“You can do this, Tarrant,” Avon says, as if he just read Tarrant's mind. “You just need to relax.” With a sigh he suddenly disappears from view, and Tarrant doesn't understand why until he feels something hot and wet close around his cock. He whines furiously. He looks down to see Avon swallowing his cock, meeting his eyes with a cold glare, bobbing his head ruthlessly and efficiently and keeping Tarrant's cock hard between his sculpted lips.

He keeps one hand on the base of the dildo, forcing it in and out, and the pleasure of Avon's mouth on him has him clenching even tighter around it and making it hurt worse, which makes him buck into Avon's mouth until he's practically thrusting down his throat. Pain and pleasure feed into each other so easily he can't tell where one stops and the other begins, and he feels so close to breaking.

But he can't. If he does, Avon will never let him forget it. So with gasping, heavy breaths, Tarrant forces himself to _calm down._ He draws his legs up and rests them atop Avon's shoulders, hoping a new angle will make it better. The more times Avon pushes the toy inside him, the more his body grows used to it, and that helps. There _is_ pleasure in it, he realises. There's pleasure in being violated by something so obscene. It appeals to his pride, the thought he can take what most people couldn't, even if it is a shock at first. That's why he agreed to this in the first place.

Tarrant reaches for Avon's hair, not sure if he wants to fuck his face or only to have something to hold on to, but Avon pulls off him before he can grab anything anyway. “Feeling better now?” he asks, only slightly out of breath. He doesn't wait for an answer, pushing Tarrant's legs aside so he can rearrange their bodies, settling with one knee either side of Tarrant's waist, hovering above his torso. _He wants to come on my chest._ Well, that's better than on his face, he supposes.

He pushes himself up on his elbow. That could be part of a plan to escape, but it isn't. Instead, he realises that reaching the toy from this angle will be very awkward for Avon to do himself, and so he probably wants Tarrant to do it himself. He grabs the hilt of the thing and forces it in and out, gasping at how his hole opens and closes around it.

Avon's eyes sparkle with delight. “Clever boy.”

Tarrant scowls. “You don't have to patronise me,” he spits with Avon's cock inches from his mouth, close enough to lean in and kiss– “I want to come at the end of this, after all. I'm not doing this for _you_.”

“You really believe that, don't you?” Avon wraps a hand around his own length, staring down at him with unbearable smugness. “I'm afraid, Tarrant, you're not very hard to read. Your type is both very common and, I'm afraid, rather boring. You enjoy being dominated by older men, loathe as you are to admit it. You'd probably call me daddy if you thought I'd ever let you forget it.”

He turns red and immediately opens his mouth to protest, but the second he does Avon thrusts between his lips, making him choke on a cock suddenly filling him up. _Damn. Tricked again._ Tarrant braces one hand against Avon's thighs, meaning to push him away, but he doesn't. That dildo is still so huge inside him, and so instead he focuses on sucking Avon to the best of his ability, taking him as deep as he dares. If he's going to be overwhelmed then he won't be only one.

Avon gasps shallowly as he pushes inside Tarrant's mouth, back arching dramatically. Tarrant reaches around and squeezes his arse, pulling him closer. “That's it, Tarrant... That's very good...” Avon whispers, hands folding through Tarrant's curls.

Something happens. It's all so much, Avon's cock knocking against his throat while the dildo stuffs him to the point of breaking. He can barely bring himself to rock his hips against it, force it in deeper, and then – it's like being _drowned_ by pleasure, and he finds himself moaning desperately around Avon's cock as it overtakes him, as his cock spurts with violent abandon and splatters all over his belly. There's not a hint of pain. His arse clenches hard and pushes the toy all the way out, leaving a hollow in him.

He's left hot, sticky, and with Avon's cock still in his mouth, just resting there, because he hasn't bothered to move it. He looks up and sees Avon staring down at him again, with amusement and mildly curiosity. Wits recovering, he's just about to resume his sucking and tonguing, to force Avon over the edge like he has been himself, but Avon pulls away from him before he can. “No. I'm not done with you yet.”

It's hardly a surprise when Avon pushes his chest and shoves him onto his back again, but he gives a shout of complaint that transforms into a whine of pain when his arse collides with the mattress. Damn, he is sore there. That's not a surprise either. Nor is Avon prying his legs apart and placing himself between them; he wants to finish, and it's not unclear how he'd like to do so.

Tarrant shudders as the head of Avon's cock presses against his overstretched, wet rim. He's not sure he can take this. “Avon...”

“After what you just took, I would have thought my cock would present no challenge at all.” Tarrant grits his teeth. Avon is playing on his vanity again, clearly, but still Tarrant doesn't try to stop him as he forces his way inside. Tarrant gasps. He's sore and overused, he won't be able to get hard again, clearly, but it does feel good. It always does.

Avon groans as he buries himself, easily, to the hilt. “You're loose,” he muses.

Tarrant turns pink with embarrassment. “Well, what did you expect?!” he snaps.

“Oh, it wasn't a complaint.” There's that mysterious grin again. Slowly, Avon starts to move his hips back and forth, subtly, making sure he won't push Tarrant too far. Tarrant takes a deep breath and makes sure he won't whimper. Soon, he feels Avon's fingers circling his entrance again, feeling where his cock slides slick and sure inside.

“Avon...”

“Shush.” He bites back a whimper as one finger pushes in alongside Avon's prick. “I know you can take this.”

He flushes and turns his head to the side. Clearly, he has mostly accidentally stumbled across one of Avon's fetishes: filling him up far more than he can with his own cock, more than any cock could, more than Tarrant can really handle. The thought makes Tarrant shiver, spent length twitching pathetically against his thigh. _No._ No, Avon is right. He can take this. He's not going to let Avon break him just for a cheap thrill.

A second finger pushes in and he moans, arching his hips to meet Avon's thrusts, seeking pleasure along with the pain. Avon's breath quickens, his pace a little less cautious now. “Ah, that's it.” Tarrant's legs wrap, without him really thinking about it, around Avon's waist, and with his spare hand Avon grasps his pale thigh, pulls him closer, nails digging in to bruise. “You know, you're not so unpleasant when you're quiet,” he says, and Tarrant snarls at him. _I could say the same to you._ “Ah, that's it...”

A third finger joins the mix and Tarrant can't help himself, he really does whimper then, stretched wider than even that toy managed. Avon loses his patience, balls slapping against Tarrant's skin with obscene volume, grunting and yelping like an animal, nothing like the infuriatingly rational, poised man he knows. “That's it, that's it, fuck, Tarrant!”

He can _feel_ it when Avon comes inside him, that's how much this does it for him. The feel of hot, sticky fluid lacing his insides is sickening and arousing in equal measure, and he doesn't quite understand how that's possible. Avon comes to a stop with a sigh. When his cock slips out, Tarrant is just sore and empty again, knowing he should head back to his rooms if not the medibay to give his arse some chance to recover, but unable to fight off the vague hope that Avon will do something more to him, chase that feeling away with pleasure.

_Get up. Don't let him see you like this_ , he tells himself, but a horrible tremor seems to have settled into his whole body, keeping him paralysed. Before he can get himself under control he feels Avon grab him by the hips and flip him over, on his stomach, rear poised in the air lewdly. He doesn't know why. Maybe Avon finds his sudden physical vulnerability disgusting, maybe he doesn't want to look Tarrant in the eye because of it, even though it's entirely _his_ fault this has happened.

_Well, at least it's over now,_ and Tarrant really ought to know better than to tempt fate because the second he thinks that he feels creeping back down his spine, toward where they just were. “Avon, what are you–?”

“Whatever I want,” he snarls cruelly in Tarrant's ear. He gasps as three fingers shove back inside him. “Stop me, if you care to.”

He bites the pillow as Avon starts to fuck him hard with his hand. He's too fucked out, there's no way this can be anything but painful, but he doesn't think he could stop Avon if he wanted to. He braces his hands against the mattress. At least, he can avoid letting Avon know how much it hurts. He said he could take it and he's going to.

Avon takes his compliance as consent, a fourth finger pushing inside easily. Tarrant chokes back a moan. His bruised and battered insides swallow Avon up like it's nothing, like he does this all the time, and it's just about starting to feel good again when–

When he feels Avon's thumb pressed against his entrance. Then he knows what Avon is going to do to him. And he knows he doesn't have a chance in hell of stopping it. He's seen this sort of thing before, in deeply verboten pornography, but nowhere else, and he doesn't know if anyone who hasn't been fucked for a living for years could–

Avon's whole hand pushes inside him he smothers a scream in the sheets. It's too much, way too much, way too _good_ , Avon's entire fist inside him and ruining him from the inside. It's painful, much too painful, but that doesn't make it any less good. “God, you take it well,” Avon murmurs, and Tarrant must be losing his mind because he thinks he hears something like _awe_ in his voice. “i thought you'd cry and whine the whole time. Tarrant, you're – you're–”

Tarrant doesn't understand what is happening. He's not hard again, he can't be, and yet he is fucking himself on Avon's hand, relishing where his knuckles rub up against his sweet spot. Ripples of pleasure run through him, and before long he can feel his entire body seize up, his hole squeezing so tight around Avon's wrist that he can hear him hiss in pain. Orgasm strikes him like a bolt of lightning, without the relief of actually being able to come from it. It's too much. All of this is just _too much._

Avon holds his breath, waiting until Tarrant comes down from his high, body slowly slackening around his fist. He pulls it out and Tarrant collapses into a pile of long gawky limbs, as if Avon just took his spine out with it.

He rolls on his side and tries to catch his breath. He thinks he feels a hand hover above his shoulder for a second, but only a second, so he must have imagined it. He ought to get up, lest Avon see him like this any longer than necessary, but at the back of his mind there is the cruel temptation to roll over toward Avon instead, to curl up against his chest, to seek comfort after being so thoroughly abused.

No. Avon would never forgive him for that. He would never forgive himself for it.

Tarrant pushes himself up on his elbows. “I'd best get back to my rooms, before the others get suspicious,” he says, even though he's sure he can barely walk. Ought of the corner of his eye he can see Avon nod coldly, before getting up to wash his hands in the basin in the corner of the room.

Well, that's that then. Tarrant finds his clothes in a pile long forgotten in the opposite corner of the room. He pulls them back on with shaking fingers, and once he's halfway decent, he takes a deep breath and turns to go. He can feel Avon's eyes on him the whole time, but he doesn't turn to meet his gaze.

After all, he doesn't need to check to know that, if this is a competition, Avon is winning.


End file.
